
The first word in my new dictionary is estimate. An estimate is a fake price that a business suggests it will charge for what later turns out cost twice as much. Example: “We estimate that the

The folks at Cascade Joinery have kindly underestimated the cost of the complicated vaulted ceiling in my future great room, and have taught me a few new words in the process. The 24x17 space will be sheltered by a Douglas Fir tongue-and-groove ceiling supported by a king-post truss and insulated by panels called SIPS, which I’ve heard more about in recent weeks than I care to discuss. I’m not even going to mention what the “estimate” for this project is, but I will say that it involves a crane, and I know that will cost more than 6 months worth of payments on the Vanbulance.
Like the lingo of timber frame construction, with its ridge
Like the terms in the preceding paragraphs, most of the vocabulary I’m learning is plain and functional, unlike the impressive architectural terminology I learned in college humanities class. But unless I change my plan and build a Gothic cathedral complete with flying buttresses, the most exotic-sounding feature of my home will be the French drain that surrounds it. I do believe that almost any process can be endured as long as I try to learn something from it. Yes, I’m spending my life savings, but now I know what a silt fence is! Maybe people should get a degree when they undergo this process—an SBH, or Survived Building House degree. Surely the accumulation of this terminology is the equivalent of a few quarters at university. God knows there were semesters at WSU where I learned less.
[1] It’s the amount of space required by building codes that will allow firefighters to enter a window or a resident to escape.